


Zigzag

by hgdoghouse



Category: The Professionals
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-27
Updated: 2011-11-27
Packaged: 2017-10-26 14:27:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/284333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hgdoghouse/pseuds/hgdoghouse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A piece of silliness written to cheer up O. Yardley; it incorporates approximately forty five titles of her Pros stories - all those then in circulation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Zigzag

ZIGZAG  
by The Lusty Troot  
aka HG

 

In Tandem- and so to bed

The ringing of his front door bell came as a relief to Bodie, who was finding that playing solitaire while listening to the air on the 'g' string did little to relieve the boredom that had set in on this, his second day of sickleave.

"Thought you had a date with Louise?" he said by way of a greeting, trying not to betray how welcome the sight of Doyle leaning against the door jamb was.

"So did I," growled Doyle, unwilling to admit he had cancelled it. His journey's end achieved, he brushed past Bodie, heading for the lounge and a large drink. He paused out of bear (I never could spell) necessity as a wall of heavy perfume assaulted him. "What the hell?"

"Julie heard about the accident and sent them over," said Bodie, a trifle defensively. No wonder he had a headache.

"It looks like a florists in here," said Doyle. He frowned when he found the small card attached to one of the clumped bunches. 'Restore amends'? Silly bitch, he thought dismissively.

"You want a drink?" asked Bodie, hoping to lighten his partner's mood. Some things never change he reminded himself, resigned. Ray was in a mood so who did he save it for? His irritation faded as he took in Doyle's tired face and slumped shoulders. I'm so glad it was me you choose, mate.

"It's what I'm looking for," agreed Doyle ungraciously, parting foliage in the hope of finding a familiar landmark.

"Try further back among the lilies. See, x marks the spot. I don't have many places to put flowers."

"I can think of a few," retorted Doyle predictably, before he downed his first drink. "This lot must've set her back a bit."

"It's the thought behind the gift that counts," Bodie pointed out mildly; if he didn't know better he'd swear Ray was jealous.

Doyle wheeled around. "If you hadn't been such a bloody fool, you wouldn't have needed any. You could've got yourself killed pulling that stupid stunt with the car! You're thirty-one not six and king of the playground!"

"No," agreed Bodie, still mild. He eyed Doyle with grave concern, aware of the fright he had given him. Ray was still blaming himself for not having been in two places at once. It didn't do to dwell on what could have happened but where Ray was concerned all this soul-searching after a heavy operation was a necessary evil to be endured. "Ease up, mate, you've already given me one rollicking' - so has Cowley. Dunno why - two injured innocents, that was us."

"Because we both behaved like prats, that's why," snapped Doyle, pouring himself another drink. "And because he believes in keeping us in line. Some of us need that more than others," he added pointedly.

"I'll be good next time," Bodie promised him, relieved to see Doyle loosening up under the influence of his second drink. It would be nice if Ray stayed sober though; be even nicer if he stayed the night, he added wistfully, knowing he wouldn't ask, that not part of the unspoken agreement which had first taken them into bed together.

"Just try being careful," mumbled Doyle helplessly, unable to take his eyes from the other man, Bodie lit by the afternoon sun, his hair like black satin. One summer night it had started and here they were in December with nothing changed between them - except possibly for the worse.

Prowling around the lounge, wary lest he forget all the resolutions he had made, Doyle began to fidget with the display of antique bottles, fingering books.

"Black Bodie's Treasure?" he croaked in disbelief.

"Eh?"

"Bartlemy's," Doyle corrected himself hastily, aware of the quicksand beneath his feet. Working solo was playing havoc with his nerves - or something.

Seeking a distraction from the breathing distraction only a few feet away from him, he hauled out a copy of the _Collected Works_ of William Shakespeare, flipping through it and smiling as he found a well-remember passage. Funny, he could remember fancying Oberon something rotten when he was younger. Ill met by moonlight, proud Titania...

Nah, must've been her instead, he decided, growing more uncomfortable by the second. Unable to remain still, he moved to the shelf where Bodie kept the few video tapes he possessed.

"Kind Hearts. I didn't know you'd got this - can I borrow it sometime?" he asked, needing to fill the expectant silence with something innocuous.

He heard the other man move, felt the solid warmth of Bodie standing behind him and swallowed hard, making no protest when the glass he held was taken from his hand.

"You don't own a video recorder, sunshine."

He turned then, but Bodie was speaking again, very fast, as if afraid he would try to interrupt. "Look, I know we agreed that what started last summer shouldn't make any difference, that we had our own lives to lead. I reckon that was a mistake. It is for me. There's unfinished business between us and I for one want an encore. No, more than that. A lot more. It's more fun with you than without you, Ray. Let me love you?"

Clearing his throat Doyle just shook his head, his smile brilliant but unsteady. "You bloody great fool - what d'you think I can round here to say, eh?"

In tandem - and so to wake

"You know, I was right that first time. You do get that little twinkle in your eye when you score," murmured Bodie contentedly, his breath warm and damp against his partner's neck, their legs still entwined.

"You're always right," said Doyle with a rare indulgence.

"Strewth," said Bodie awed, "this won't last." Stirring, he looked down at the contented face on his pillow. "Spend Christmas with me?"

"And the New Year," agreed Doyle, "Or you can spend it with me," he added, giving a stretch of total well-being. "What d'you want to do today, eh? I'm off-duty," he explained, drifting a hopeful hand down his partner's body.

"Should get some food in I suppose, clean up a bit. Then we could always play scrabble - found the board while I was sorting through some stuff."

"Scrabble? Was my technique that bad?"

"Stop fishing for compliments," Bodie told him severely. "Just won yourself a lot of Brownie points, my son. But I want to conserve my strength. For tonight," he prompted.

"Scrabble, it is," Doyle agreed, confident that Bodie was bluffing.

 

"Zoetrope!" exclaimed Bodie with glee. Already in a party spirit on nothing more potent than coffee and eighteen hours in Doyle’s company, he began to tot up his score, conscious of the inimical glare from the watcher on the other side of the table.

"You made that up." accused Doyle.

"Me?"

"You. I've never heard of it."

"Having an off day, are you?" inquired Bodie solicitously. "I thought even tough guys like us were supposed to be erudite."

While searching for the right words to say, Doyle continued to wish Bodie hadn't produced the scrabble board he had uncovered in a drawer. "Find a dictionary, he commanded him. "Before you have that I want to see it in black and white."

"Are you suggesting I'd stoop to cheating?" asked Bodie, hurt.

"Not suggesting, no."

"You certainly know how to win friends and influence people," sighed Bodie. "Such trust. A hopeless case, you are."

"About some things," agreed Doyle, his bare toes cozily tucked in Bodie's groin. "But I still intend getting at the truth of this. Dictionary," he insisted.

"I can see the honeymoon's over," mourned Bodie, but in the interests of harmony - and because he was peckish - he went in search of one, his voyage of discovery taking him via the kitchen, aware that, thanks to Doyle sidetracking him, they never had gone shopping. He eyed the contents of his cupboards with disbelief, finding little that appealed: pickles, ketchup, coffee, a packet of angel delight and tin of spotted dick. He pushed those to the back of the shelf in the hope they would escape Doyle's critical eye, before his expression lightened.

Fortified by a piece of the yule log he had rediscovered in a cupboard, Bodie brought a healthy chunk in for Doyle, who eyed it with misgiving.

"Is that edible?"

One cheek still bulging, Bodie nodded. "Not a patch on the one you dropped in the sink but considering it's the first one I've made it's - not bad for a beginner," he amended, having discovered a lump of something hard: he swallowed it.

"More like finger licken' good," judged Doyle, watching as Bodie gave a sticky hand a lick and a promise; the impulse to take over the task was almost overwhelming.

"Well, go on, try it," urged Bodie hospitably, fully aware of what he was doing. "I meant the cake," he explained after a pleasant interlude.

Left with no option, Doyle gingerly took a bite. He never had enjoyed two inch butter icing over rock-hard sponge. "It's been nice knowing you," he said, chewing heroically.

"It isn't that bad," protested Bodie.

"It can't be that good, you haven’t finished your bit," pointed out Doyle. Sliding up his feet, he sprawled out on the sofa and stretched, thus reaffirming Bodie's theory that Ray Doyle could safely be classified an x-rated area, guaranteed to provide a few moving moments. And all mine, he thought contentedly, twirling his imaginary mustaches.

"You feeling all right?" asked Doyle with concern.

"I dunno, mate, you were the one who felt me last," Bodie reminded him, finding it difficult to take life seriously tonight. "Made a lovely job of it, too. I could hire you out as a masseur - amongst other things," he added fairly.

"Money mad, you are," sighed Doyle.

"Sez who? Only way of getting money out of you is with GBH."

"We'll have that later," Doyle promised him. "Now you mention it, I can see you as a petty thief. Almost type casting."

"Nothing so common, mate," corrected Bodie loftily. "Terror of the highways I'd be. Brother Blades, one for all and all for one."

"What, 'Stand and deliver, your money or your honour?'"

"Shouldn't that be life?" enquired Bodie vaguely, moving one leg permit the hand drifting up his thigh better access.

"Probably. Besides, I've had your honour," said Doyle, with a reminiscent gleam in his eyes.

"Novelty worn off, has it?" demanded Bodie, before he found himself jerked off balance to share the sofa Doyle was occupying.

Licking a trace of sweetness from the corner of his partner's mouth, he tried to concentrate for a few vital moments more. "Sure you wouldn't rather finish that game of scrabble?" he asked brightly.

In the ensuing tussle they both discovered the floor to be reasonably comfortable, if not draught proof.

 

THE END

**Author's Note:**

> Written 1988


End file.
